


Protocol

by FailureArtist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ambigious alien genitals, F/M, Forced Kink, Gender-neutral Reader, Mental Cruelty, Mental bondage, Non-consensual Exhibitionism, Objectification, Omorashi, Other, pee desperation, though a feminine-leaning reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8818111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FailureArtist/pseuds/FailureArtist
Summary: You remain on the ground. It is forbidden to get out of this position until the Empress allows it. You've heard that subjects have been tortured for such breaches of protocol. A subject can't assume the Empress means for them to rise after she starts a conversation. However, the Empress hasn't said anything the entire time you've been in the block. If you hadn't seen her look straight at you, you would have thought she didn't know you entered.





	

**Author's Note:**

> You can imagine any gender you want for the POV character and any genitals for the troll race.
> 
> Non-con in this case doesn't mean forced physical contact, but this is definitely sexual harassment.

Despite working in the palace, you never expected to ever see the Empress. You are over in the clerical wing serving refreshments and delivering mail. It's typical work for an oliveblood. The best you can hope for is eventually being the one to tell other midbloods how to use the coffee machine and how to sort the mail. Yet one evening, as you arrive to the clerical wing, your supervisor tells you that you are wanted in the Mauve Reception Block by the Empress. You leave for it immediately.

The palace is so big it takes half an hour or so to get to the Mauve Reception Block. It doesn't help that you don't know about the other wings of the palace. You have to ask two different guards for directions. Finally, you find the right block. The doortroll on duty strikes the phallic musclebeasts knocker and a buzzer sounds. He opens the door for you and announces you by name. You enter a block familiar only from the newspapers. The newspaper photographs haven't prepared you for how utterly mauve the block is. However, you can't look at every little detail. Ahead of you by only twenty feet is Her Imperious Condescension on one of her lesser but still impressive thrones. Though she's sitting, she's obviously very tall, at least seven feet without her two feet horns. Her long legs are crossed and she looks at you with a faint smile on her full lips. Her fuchsia eyes are hypnotic and you almost can't look away. Yet you must follow the protocol.

“Y-your Imperious Condescension,” you say.

The greeting over, you get to the next step. Your knees collaspe under your body. Your arms stretch in front of you. Your head is down and your eyes are on the carpet. You are in the proper bowing position for a midblood, as has been taught to you. You then wait for her Imperious Condescension to speak.

She doesn't.

You remain on the ground. It is forbidden to get out of this position until the Empress allows it. You've heard that subjects have been tortured for such breaches of protocol. A subject can't assume the Empress means for them to rise after she starts a conversation. However, the Empress hasn't said anything the entire time you've been in the block. If you hadn't seen her look straight at you, you would have thought she didn't know you entered.

The seconds pass into minutes. The only sound is your heavy breathing. The only thing you can see is mauve carpet. The weight of your body on your heels makes your shoes cut into your ankles. Your arms hurt from being stretched out. Even though you are doing nothing, your heart still beats fast. You can feel the sweat start to drip on your back. Still, you do not even shift.

You wonder if this is a test of your loyalty. Maybe at the end of this you will be rewarded. You've never heard of that happening but it's possible. It would be much better than it being punishment.

Behind you, the knockers sound again. For a second, you almost lift your head reflexively but you resist. A prosaic buzz sounds in response to the mighty knock and again you resist. The doors open. The doortroll announces that the Minister of Aquaculture for Planet XG9 has arrived. Her Imperious Condescension finally speaks.

“Let him in.”

Awkward footsteps pad next to you. You hear a man with a seatroll accent speak.

“Your Imperious Condescension, uhh, glub?”

“Ignore it,” she says.

The man sighs. You can't see him, but you assume he bows from the waist, as is the custom of the violetbloods.

“You may rise up...” her Imperious Condescension starts and you wait for the rest. “...Minister.”

Your job title or name or any indication of your identity doesn't come. The lucky violetblood presumably follows her order.

“Good,” she says, “So ya have news aboat Planet XG9?”

His footsteps lead away from you towards the throne. “I do indeed, your Imperious Condescension.”

He then goes on to talk. She occasionally asks questions, but not to you. You had expected the game would be over when she got a real visitor, but here she is talking matters of state in front of a mere oliveblood office drone. Well, it doesn't seem to be that high importance. It's all talk about seafood yields. If there are any juicy bits of information, they are all lost to you. The discussion is thick with jargon and you haven't even been to a seafood restaurant.

The Empress doesn't seem that excited by the conversation either but she still doesn't stop her from asking leading questions. After some time, the minister sounds like he's trying to wrap up, saying “in conclusion” a lot, but she keeps him (and you) in the block. The minister breaths heavy like you.

You wonder what your co-workers are thinking about your absence. Marzia is helpless without you. Rosnam won't believe you really are seeing the Empress. Keknek will be very put out to find you gone. He always insist that you deliver his coffee personally and he always winks when you do. It's actually creepy, and maybe it's a good thing you aren't at work.

Speaking of coffee, the two cups you had to steel yourself this evening have reached your bladder. You curse the size of your mug. Your knees in this position press into your organs. If only you could move, it would be slightly less agony.

Finally, the Empress dismisses the minister. He leaves readily. However, she doesn't dismiss you. You stay in position. How much longer will she keep up this game?

You hear the pop of something being taken out of a sylldex. It could be anything. It could be a torture implement. Yet the sound that comes from the new object is paper flapping. The Empress quietly reads out the title.

“Two moirails decide to become rails with pails after torturing their respective Descendants together, fifty torture scenes, eighty-eight sex scenes, one war, two political debates, and one fashion show. Sounds trashy. I pike it.”

She doesn't read out any more of the romance novel. She hums and chuckles from time-to-time but says nothing. Is this what she does in her free time? You'd like to read that book, if only because you want something to do.

You had dreamed before of meeting the Empress but you never thought it would be like this. In your fantasies, you imagined talking with her about a great many things while she complimented your knowledge, not this kneeling in complete silence. In your wilder fantasies, you'd cut the talk and do something more interesting. Well, doesn't everyone have fantasies like that about the Empress?

You hear the Empress moan and giggle suggestively and you wonder if she's gotten to the first of the eighty-eight sex scenes. Or is she on a torture scene? Could be the fashion show.

The knocker sounds again and you could pee yourself in surprise but you don't. Next goes that buzzer. The doortroll announces “Head-chancellor of the Garzax School of Law”.

“Let her in,” says the Empress.

The door opens again. Barely there footsteps come in. A high clear female voice starts to say “Your Imperious Condescension...” before faltering.

The Empress responds, “Ignore it.”

The Head-chancellor gets on the ground. You sneak the shortest peak at her and she sneaks one at you. From her position, you guess she is a midblood, probably a teal. You feel a camaraderie for her. Two midbloods forced to submit.

“Rise,” says the Empress, “Head-chancellor.”

The moment is broken. You are too jealous of her getting to rise and talk with the Empress instead of bowing on the carpet forever. The two just talk on and on. The Empress is much more chatty with a midblood than you'd thought she'd be, but that midblood isn't you. Your fellow midblood cares nothing for you beyond momentary confusion.

As the midblood gets to talk to the Empress, your fantasies of getting the chance to talk are overruled by fantasies of getting to pee. You imagine your bottom on the rubbery seat of a load gapper instead of pressed against your over-stressed heels. Forget the excitement of the glittering Empress, imagine the excitement of getting to release all that golden fluid.

Though your bladder is full, your mouth is parched. You haven't drunk anything since those ill-advised mugs of coffee. Your throat is constricted by dehydration and stress.

The Head-chancellor gets to fulfill your dream of leaving this damn mauve block. When she leaves, the pop comes again. The Empress says, “Back to work on this novel” and apparently does that. Again, you have to wait. You've never read the novel and you hate it.

The game has gone on enough, you think. She's had two visitors already and each must have taken half an hour. You have work too. Can she really keep you all night? Will your bladder hold out? Maybe you should get up and take your whipping. Nothing can be worse than this.

The knocker sounds again and so goes the buzzer. The door opens. This time, the doortroll has terrifying news: “His Mirthfulness the Grand Highblood.” You definitely cannot get up now. You're more afraid of offending him than you are her Imperious Condescension. Though you aren't happy at this news, she sounds thrilled when she tells him to enter. Giant footsteps plod around you as the door shuts.

“Your Imperious Condescension,” comes the deep dark voice of the Grand Highblood, “What the FUCK is this?”

“Ignore it,” she says for the third time.

This time, a visitor responds to this situation with, “Heh, kinky little bitch.”

You wonder if he's referring to you. You aren't the kinky one but you are the only one he could call a bitch, right?

You hear the shifting of hair from the throne and footsteps towards you. You think her Imperious Condescension is about to say something to your face. Though the order to rise seems imminent, you stay put.

She walks to your side without saying word. Her hair brushes against you in parts. Then, she presses a foot on your back and leans forward. Your body is pressed down into the horrible mauve carpet. She must weigh 180 pounds or more and it's all on your small midblood back. The only mercy is she's wearing smooth-soled flats. Above you, you hear exagerated kissing noises. You're in too much pain to think about the discovery that those two are indeed an item.

After a mercifully short time, she gets off of you. You are sure you'll have the imprint of her shoes on your back for a long time. The two footsteps of the Grand Highblood and the Empress lead away from you towards the end of the block. They giggle conspiratorially all the way. Then come more exaggerated kissing noises.

“So, bitch,” says the Grand Highblood, “are we gonna...”

“You glubbin' know we are,” she answers.

You know what they are talking about when you hear the sound of a zipper. Their clothes rustle and rub. Will they try anything with you? No, they seem to be ignoring you.

You find yourself wonder what the Empress looks like naked as she might be at this point. Her bodysuit is already skin-tight so you know about her curves but what does her skin look like under the concealing latex? Is it blemish-free from pampering or is she scarred from fighting all the heiresses? Can she even scar? Does she have any body piercings or tattoos? Do her full rumblespheres defy gravity? You tell yourself you shouldn't dare imagine such things but you know if you dared look up, you would find out the answers. You wouldn't dare though.

The Grand Highblood answers your unasked question by saying, “Got to say, I motherfucking LOVE that new wicked piercing.”

The Condesce replies, “It's very sensitive.”

“I bet it is. Come here, bitch, I want to try them out.”

You wonder if this means you should get up but it's her Imperious Condescension who should tell you to get up. Maybe the Grand Highblood is talking to the Empress this way? They have a stranger relationship than you thought. What quadrant are they?

The Condesce moans, “Glub yeah, just pike that, pull it.” You wonder where the piercing is. Could she have pierced her genitals?

Despite it all, you feel yourself get aroused. Your blood-rushed groin pushes up against your full bladder and it makes the arousal both more intense and more unbearable. Your bended knees press against eveything. Your underpants are wet with pre-material. If you get up, if you ever get up, there might be an olive stain on your crotch and possibly even the carpet.

The stranger couple certainly seem turned on. The Condesce makes moans that will stay in your think pan forever. The Grand Highblood keeps saying, “You like it, bitch,” in a salicious tone unsuited for an empress. She giggles in response.

“Put those wicked gams around my waist while I hold your ass,” say the Grand Highblood, “I'm gonna ROCK your universe.”

There is some unf-ing and groaning as they get into that difficult position. You've never done it that way but it must be easy with the Grand Highblood's strength.

The Condesce glubs, “Oh, Highblub, yah so big, yah tearin' me in two.”

You hadn't been imagining what the Grand Highblood looks like until now. Judging from what you've heard, he's a very big troll. A couple inches taller than Empress, but three times as broad. If he's in proportion, his bone bulge must be long and likely girthy. You imagine that purple monster and shudder.

The couple's wet bodies start to slam into each other. They go on as if they don't care you are there. Or maybe they do care and it turns them on. You had thought so long ago this was a test of loyalty with a clear reward but at this point you think this is just foreplay for the power couple. Will your reward be a kiss from the Empress? Or would you have to endure the Grand Highblood ripping through your small midblood body?

Your arousal is growing just as much as it is for the power couple. However, you don't find it pleasurable like they certainly do. Everything below your waist is strung-tight and pressed. Your bladder and your genitals demand relief. You want to relieve the pain by thinking of different things but it's so hard to ignore the supreme ruler of the know universe going at it with her left hand troll only a few feet away. Even if you couldn't hear them, you can smell both their arousal and your own.

The moans and groans reach fever-pitch when suddenly comes the pop of a sylladex. You figure it's the pail, though you'd think the power couple might be kinky enough to use each other as a pail. The Condesce and the Grand Highblood both do their final moans and groans. Mass amounts of liquid fill a metal container. The pail is carried off somewhere and you don't know where.

They soon zipped and button up their clothes again, despite being sweaty and covered in each other's bodily fluids.

“That was the big top, bitch,” says the Grand Highblood between pants.

“When ain't it?” the Condesce replies.

“So what are you gonna do with the mucus motherfucker?”

Condesce hums. “I sea-pose it's tine to let the peasantglub off the hook.”

Your bloodpusher is cheered by this news though the rest of your body is still in pain.

“Peasantblood,” she says and you hope it's directed at you, “Rise up.”

You lift your head and see the full-dressed Empress. She's sweaty and flushed and she has some clown paint on her but she's still gorgeous. Next to her is the Grand Highblood and he indeed is bigger than the Empress. His clown paint is blasphemously smeared.

You try to move the rest of your body but your body fights back. It's been stuck in that one position for so long. If only you had been a lowblood you could have been lying on your belly this whole time.

She sighs. “Highglub, go kelp the peasantblood.”

The Grand Highblood walks up to you and holds his hand out. You take it and lift yourself up. It might be the first time he's ever done helped someone like that. When you are on your shaking legs, the Grand Highblood steps back.

Condesce says, “I bet after all them hours, yo bladders filled wit' urine?”

You nod your head.

“Go take a leak,” she says.

You remember to take a step back to leave, though you almost trip. However, she holds up a finger.

“Knot so fast, peasantglub. I want yah to take a leak right pier.”

You need to obey this order but your body won't comply. Your dignity and wigglerhood training are too strong. Yet you feel a sudden flash of terror and your muscles weaken. With a burst like an orgasm, you release. The flow just keeps coming and you could never stop it.

The Empress and the Grand Highblood look at you not with disgust but with amusement. They don't seem to mind the strong smell of the urine or the mess it's making on the carpet. You're just another part of their afterglow.

The peeing does eventually stop, though it takes a couple additional bursts. When urine stops, your tears start. They're also never ending. Your body tenses up as you sob.

The Grand Highblood laughs loudly and heartily. “Good one, empress.”

“I alwaves have the best ideas,” she says.

The two share one more kiss as you stand there. Off in the corner, you notice a pail. They never put it away.

Condesce pulls herself away from her lover to look at you. “Yar disfished.”

Her face is covered by the Grand Highblood's head and you see no more of her. Instead of backing out of the block, you turn around and fling open the doors. You get out of that damn block as soon as possible. You go to the restblock and try in vain to blot out the various stains in your clothes. When that fails, you go home, hoping for the forgiveness of your boss. You want to leave the trauma behind but while you're in the vertical ablution stall, you masturbate into a surprisingly quick and powerful orgasm. You go to your recupercoon and spend the rest of your night there.

So this is how the worst night of your life ends. You never see the Empress again but the memory last for the rest of your short midblood life.


End file.
